


if one could change

by vaultboii



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, concerning the events through the fall of Cybertron, this is just fluff and angst forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7896220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the most pure hearts shatter in war.</p><p>A depiction of an event occurring through the meeting of Optimus and Megatron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if one could change

**Author's Note:**

> i told myself i wasn't gonna do it, wasn't gonna write this angst old war dads
> 
> nope. failed.
> 
> here's some trash

_Most beings would tend to consider meeting a Lord one of the most exalting experiences to bear witness to. The visuals of the Rich, the power of Knowledge: all of that glamorized beauty before them with inviting attraction to be taken in, and admired. Humans were the weakest, too quick to jump to that chance of riches, even if it was only to ogle and gawk at the displays of wealth helplessly. They mimicked pets, animals before their masters, begging with carnal appetites to be satisfied with scraps. Even some of their own kind would shame themselves committing such denouncing acts; such Cybertronians named Starscream, to name an example. There were even those who did such in front of him, as if he was an all-powerful God of prosperity sent by Primus Himself to bestow gifts of fortune and wealth to those who treated him with overwhelming respect and obedience. The very concept was off-settling, and filthy in moral standards. He was nothing more than a protector, a leader with commands to defend those incapable of defending themselves. He was not a Lord, nor a God, and most definitely not an immortal weapon of mass destruction with the strength to hurtle entire civilizations to ruin._

  _He was a Prime._

  _However, when he met a Lord, he was not a Prime. He was merely a librarian, new to the aspects of life, curious by life and death, clueless to the betraying antics of some. And, the Lord himself was not yet a lord, just a simple gladiator with pure antics, too pure and vulnerable to brittle attack._

  _The very first time he met Lord Megatron, he was Orion Pax, and Megatron was yet still Megatronus, both of them innocent to the cruel blade of Primus’ world. That all changed too quickly._

  _He remembered the very first words Megatron had spoken to him, kind and with good intent._

 “Are you the archivist?”

 He was shocked to hear the words at first. They were gruff and sharp with awkward chivalry, manners spoken as if it was the first time getting them out. Quicker than he would’ve liked to admit he spun around, startled at the company. The data tablet in his hands slipped; fumbling, he played a fool’s card trying to keep it from hitting the ground. The tablet chuckled at his antics and dodged, straight through his stumbling hands to the ground. Only then did his feet decide to give out beneath him, and with a crash that could beat the loudness of Ratchet’s tantrums, he fell into the side of the data table.

  _Ouch._

 “O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” his tongue stuttered, naive and foolish in its journey of speaking. Not even attempting to stand up, he carefully tried to reach the data tablet and stare at the one who had caused this mess discreetly. He failed both. “I was just reading, and-”

  
He glanced up. Polished war silver, a sharp tower in the room of knowledge gleamed daringly back at him.

  _He forgot how to talk._

 “-ah, yes, I am the archivist. Orion Pax. That’s my name. Orion Pax.” The data tablet was forgotten. Talking became merely a nuisance to his ogling at the warrior.

 The mech seemed familiar with this uncertainty at his appearance. “My apologies,” said the gladiator, apology as if almost reflexively etched into his tongue, and, with a well-practiced carefulness, the giant hunched over him to help him find his feet again. Taking the Cybertronians hand, he let the mech pull him up. He was embarrassed to find a carefully crafted smirk lined into the gladiator’s face. “My appearance tends to startle even the sternest of sparks.”

 “What would you be here for?” He bit back a retort that would’ve sent him home with an aching aft. Dusting non-existent dirt off himself, he avoided the amused chuckle. “We don’t often get gladiators around these parts.”

 “Research.” And like that, the mood was sobered, shot from the air with sternness not even Ratchet could mimic.

 "Research?” The archivist in him perked up, and he regarded the warrior with a new light. Gladiators were not the type to do research. “What sort of research?”

 “Research prompted by curiousity.” The directness hung fiercely from the gladiator’s tongue, an answer demanding quiet, and he cowered from it willingly. He had forgotten his place; he even had the decency to openly question a powerful stranger without even knowing his name. The rudeness of his actions was astonishing.

 “Oh, of course.” He didn’t say anything else. Bending over, he went for the tablet.

 Sharp fingers, crafted with the care to be delicate and lethal, beat him to it.

 “Let me get that.” The voice told him, and he drew back, just enough that he could feel the throbbing _life_ rushing through the one beside him. Something fluttered in him; he ignored it, a feeling best for somewhere else, and some other time. The hand drew the tablet up, and then the same gently dangerous claws fingered the inanimate machine.

 When they held out the tablet, he found himself hesitating before taking it.

 It _wasn’t_ because he was intimidated. It _wasn’t_ because they looked too gentle. His hand barely brushed against the claws when he finally grew courage to reach out a shaking hand, and the metal was fiercely brave against his. He hated when he lingered there longer than he should have.

 The screen of the tablet was cracked. He almost could feel angry at the mech for assisting in breaking it. _Almost._

 “Oh.” He made it sound like he was unconcerned about his hands, or the tablet. Something in him stiffened as he did so. “It’s cracked.”

 “It is?” The Cybertronian sounded genuine. At least the damn smirk faded, just a bit less smug than it once was. The mech reached a hand out. “Let me see.”

 He held out the tablet. The mech took it, in both hands, carefully.

 The stranger also took his hands with it too.

 The blue eyes met his again. “I’m terribly sorry,” the gladiator said again, and there was the smirk again, that horribly perfect smile that just lifted the stranger’s icy Energon eyes, “for all that trouble I have put you through.”

 “It’s nothing.” He said it too quickly, too flustered. He pulled back, with the tablet in hand. “It was merely a data copy, nothing more.”

 “Ah.” The warrior didn’t even faze.

 They stood silent. He could feel the seconds ticking by as they stood apart, his hands gripping the broken tablet as if it was an anchor to a reality far from this one. Maybe there was one somewhere out there. Not here.

 The awkwardness wasn’t lost on the warrior. As quickly as the conversation fell, the mech picked it back up with verbal strength. “-However, as much as this conversation was _interesting_ ,” and the gladiator chuckled, enough to make him fidget uncomfortably in embarrassment, “I did have a reason to come here.” The pit-soldier looked around. “The tablets are over there, I’m assuming.”

“Correct.” He didn’t stutter. “Over there.”

 “Thank you.” The pit-soldier turned to leave. Their meeting was over.

  _He didn’t want it to be._

 “Could- Forgive me for being rash, but could I know your name?” He asked, right before the gladiator left for the tablets; with boldness so surprisingly direct he almost felt confident. It was a falsehood, an idiotic act. Immediately he wished he shut up.

 The gladiator halted. He could almost find amusement in the movement, the stranger’s petrified statue. The data tablet’s screen was forgotten. Everything was forgotten.

 “Megatronus,” the gladiator answered with that same stupid smile.

 And then the gladiator winked; so demeaning of the silver war armour, the sharp edge of his intimidation that it looked almost comical. “You know,” and he heard a teasing ring to Megatronus’ voice that no one would ever hear in the ring, never ever again after he became a Prime, “I’ve never had a Cybertronian fall for me this hard before.

Megatronus left him with a very wide-opened, very flustered blush.


End file.
